Poseidon: King of The Sea...

Rhea PoV:

Failure...

For a deity, the concept of failure seems utterly foreign, especially when endowed with infinite time to pursue ambitions. Even the most timid and least skilled of immortals can evolve, learn, or refine their craft. Thus, failure, within the eternal essence of godhood, appears as a hollow term, devoid of any real significance. Or so I had believed. Struggling to master the delicate art of painting pales in comparison to the harrowing reality of failing to fulfil one's true purpose.

There are no legends depicting Helios faltering in his duty to illuminate the expanse of the skies; Atlas's unparalleled strength is never questioned, nor is Koios's brilliance. Yet, there exists no shortage of whispers and tales about me—the Goddess of Fertility and Motherhood—whose own womb remains barren. Such a fate would be enough to cast a long shadow over my divine existence, but what torments me far more deeply are the doubts I harbour within.

I carry a weighty truth, one that eludes the understanding of even those closest to me: I have birthed children of my own—born from the very fabric of my divinity, nurtured within me for their entire term. No, my failure does not lie in my lack of children; it rests in my inability to safeguard them.

My journey began with Hestia. I fought fiercely, like a lioness defending her cub, yet fate was merciless. She was torn from my arms, cruelly wrested away by the very person I loved most—my husband. When it came time for Demeter, I believed I was prepared, perhaps even ready to leave the shadows of despair behind. With the hope that Kronos's ever-looming paranoia would diminish in Hestia's absence, I clung to that fragile optimism. But as we fled toward freedom, our tiny family was stopped dead in its tracks, ensnared by my husband's unyielding power at the base of Mount Othrys.

In that fleeting instant, a tidal wave of powerlessness engulfed me, sweeping away all the time, energy, and devotion I had invested in our bond. It felt as if the once-sturdy foundation I had painstakingly built collapsed in an instant, obliterated by the resolute choice of the man I had vowed to love and trust. They say betrayal is one of the most devastating emotions one can bear, a truth I had always known in theory but never truly grasped until that moment of gut-wrenching anguish. The deep ache it caused cut through my heart, making me grasp the painful reality of what had been lost.

In that pivotal moment, I vowed to sever my ties with him completely. If I could not protect our children from his grasp, then I would deny myself the joy of motherhood entirely. I would grieve for Hestia and Demeter as my only children, and Kronos would seize no more from me...

Yet, I faltered. How can an immortal defy the very essence of their being? I am the Goddess of Motherhood and Fertility; regardless of my fierce resolve, my nature inevitably prevailed. Thus, Hera came into being, followed by Hades, and then Poseidon. With each new child born, my resentment grew like a festering wound. I could perceive the internal conflict within Kronos, yet even that flicker of the man I once loved was insufficient to sway him. For what are children compared to his relentless pursuit for an eternal throne?

And now, here I stand once more, another child blossoming beneath my heart, at a crossroads of desperation and defiance. This time, I refuse to concede. My husband's dread of Father's ominous prophecy has driven us to the brink of ruin. If he allows his fears to run amok, then perhaps I should let his prophecy unfold. I have already faltered as a mother—why not embrace the role of a failed wife as well?